


Narcissa Black and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

by ferggirl



Series: Ferggirl's HP Endurance Challenge fics [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2014-05-08
Packaged: 2018-01-23 23:43:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1583777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ferggirl/pseuds/ferggirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Narcissa Black is engaged to Lucius Malfoy and invited to the June 1974 Semi-Annual Death Eater Formal and Casino Night. They're throwing it for morale-boosting social cohesion, but also to collect membership dues, because, you know, eliminating blood traitors ain't cheap. Crack and (attempts at) dark humor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Narcissa Black and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the third round of the (sadly defunct) HP Endurance Challenge on tumblr.   
> Prompt: Your character attends a masquerade and makes a drunken confession.   
> LOC: Hell.   
> Character assigned: Narcissa Malfoy.

The June 1974 Semi-Annual Death Eater Formal and Casino Night was to be the single most important event of the summer.

At least that’s what Narcissa Black, soon-to-be Malfoy as advertised by the very large diamond on her left hand ring finger, had been told no fewer than seven times this morning by her visiting fiancé.

“You see, the Dark Lord much prefers the persimmons in the punch,” he was saying eagerly, waving bits of parchment at her in a very tiresome manner. “Yes, better to have them in the punch than on the cakes.”

Narcissa believed that such details were best left to… others. Someone else. She was a proud flower of the most noble and ancient house of Black, and had house elves for this sort of thing.

“But if we don’t use the persimmon seeds to spell out ‘All Hail the Dark Lord’ on the tea cakes what will we use instead?” Lucius had a nice jawline, she thought, ignoring his question. He would pass that on to their sons, and she would have their portraits painted on horseback, and pose useless blood traitors like Andromeda or her stupid Gryffindor of a cousin in supplication at their feet.

Her thin mouth curved into a smile, and Lucius took it as approval of whatever inane idea he’d just put forth. “Indeed, my dear, you are right as always. Certainly we shall use pomegranates. The effect will be magnificent – like dripping blood of his enemies.”

He looked at her hopefully as he said the last. Lucius was not a very _exciting_ man, not like Bella’s Rodolphus. Rodolphus had been given charge of the dragon-baiting portion of the evening, and was procuring the dragon and the muggles to run around in the arena so that well-dressed attendees could place bets on how long they might last and whether they would die burned or eaten if they tired of dancing and cards.

Her fiancé was in charge of the refreshments.

She reached for her glass of rose water and firewhiskey. Really, one would think this Dark Lord would have better sense. Lucius didn’t even own a house elf. It was embarrassing.

******

Bellatrix showed up that afternoon with her hair smoking slightly and a smile tilting just that side of crazed. Narcissa poured herself another glass.

“Honestly,” Druella cooed as she watched Grax the house elf put out the remaining dragon fire in her eldest daughter’s hair, “it’s so nice to see you supporting your sister’s little political club, Narcissa.”

“Cissy’s just going so that her ickle Lucius won’t forget himself and get in a drinking competition with Nott and Goyle this time.” Bella stuck her tongue out and used her wand to split it in two for a moment, both parts waggling at Narcissa behind their mother’s back.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes and took another drink.

“Nonsense, dear.” Druella draped herself over a couch and smiled lazily at the two of them. “It’s a sweet little phase. So nice that you young things have such fun together. And with the right sort of crowd.” She glanced up at the family portrait, wincing when the painted Andromeda hiding behind the settee threw a shoe at her older sisters.

“ _Toujours Pur_. _Toujours Pur_. _Toujours Pur_.” They mumbled the Black family motto under their breath to ward away the irritation of her betrayal. Satisfied that the family ghosts knew their feelings on the matter, Bella returned to the task at hand.

“It’s not a phase, mother,” she said, her nose in the air as she marched off with the house elf riding on her shoulders, trying to detangle a particularly burned section. “This is who I am now.”

“I wish you would at least _think_ about wearing color tonight, darling!” Druella called after her. “Rodolphus said the other day that you look so very striking in Slytherin green!”

Her sister’s irritated screech meant that she’d be wearing black again tonight. The disappointment on her mother’s face when she turned to her youngest daughter meant she was going to be excessively interested in how she looked. Which meant lace. Probably a bustle.

Narcissa was glad she’d poured a double.

******

The house elves coaxed Bellatrix out of her room with promises of meat pies and target practice on last year’s Daily Prophet clipping announcing the birth of Nymphadora Tonks to Andromeda Tonks née Black and Ted Tonks. (They had bought out the issue so the ‘happy news’ could not circulate.) By that point, however, Narcissa looked like a trussed peacock.

This was in no small part thanks to a surprise visit from Grandmother Irma.

Her father’s mother, a Crabbe by birth and Black by marriage, loved few things in life so much as ruffles. Every gift Narcissa had ever received from her was ruffled in some form. Ruffled dresses, ruffled hats, ruffled spellbook covers and ruffled collars for the various magical beasts her father had mounted on their parlor wall. Her own mother liked volume. She wore her own hair big and teased, her skirts voluminous.

They’d been steadily increasing the number of petticoats and trimmings on her satin dress robes for the last hour while sipping at Gimpy’s special rum-spiced pumpkin juice.

If this carried on any further she was not going to be able to fit through the door to the ballroom.

Bella, of course, needed only a peek in the door before she laughed and scurried off to practice looking devastatingly dark and lovely (and just a tad sleepy) draped over some unfortunate piece of antique furniture in another room. She hated Grandmother Irma. Narcissa thought that rather short-sighted of her, as the old woman was filthy rich.

Though her gold was probably enchanted to have little ruffles, and therefore useless as currency.

Still. She let Knobby fix the stiff lace collar around her neck and attempted to smile.

“Trousers!” Irma was screeching. Mostly deaf since her last encounter with a banshee that had been locked in her upstairs guest boudoir, she rarely spoke below a yell. “I’m telling you, Druella, I saw the wretched thing walking around in trousers!”

‘The wretched thing’ was the extremely subtle code her family had adopted for discussing Andromeda. Honestly, you would think banishing one’s sister from the family would put an end to her attention-grabbing ways. Narcissa tried to take a swig of her refilled sweetened firewhiskey, but got a mouthful of wet lace instead.

“I cannot bear to hear of my failures. You mustn’t say another word,” Druella wilted across the settee. After a moment, she opened one eye and fixed it on Irma. “Trousers? Like a man?”

This time Narcissa managed to get past the lace and swallow a nice burning gulp.

******

She determined to owl Lucius as soon as she was free. She could barely fit into the manor’s owlery, and was sitting in a wholly undignified pile of blue satin, frothy lace petticoats and rage instructing Lucius that she would _meet him there_ and _plans have changed_ when a knock sounded.

“I told you, mother, I am not to be disturbed.” The firewhiskey had made her fingers tingle and she smacked her lips in irritation before realizing that Narcissa Black did not smack her lips at all.

“Ah, well,” her father said in amusement, “I was sent to see your finery.”

“Daddy!”

“There’s my princess.” Cygnus was dark, as all of her relatives, and had always loved her best. Even Bellatrix admitted it. “Now what time is Lucius coming to collect you and my generous donation to this little endeavor of his?”

She bit her lip. Telling her father that Lucius was in charge of the Death Eaters in the Dark Lord’s absence had been a slight slip of the tongue. But the June 1974 Semi-Annual Death Eater Formal and Casino Night _was_ meant to be a fundraiser, and he was more inclined to give money to his future favorite son-in-law than to some upstart with no family to his name.

“Oh, Daddy, he’s got to finish up the preparations. I’m going to meet him there.”

He gave her a disapproving look over his wire-rimmed glasses. His carefully waxed mustache quivered in disappointment. “You’ll go with Bellatrix and Rodolphus, then? I don’t want my little girl taking foolish chances with all those muggles stirring up trouble.”

“Don’t you worry, Daddy,” she tied her hasty note onto the leg of a sleek Great Horned Owl and shooed it off. “I just have to finish getting ready.”

His waxed and curled eyebrow rose. Daddy could have been considered a bit of a dandy in his day, she thought, but now he just looked a bit… stiff. “I wondered when I saw mother here. She does like her ruffles.”

“You do promise not to tell?” She fluttered her eyelashes at him, grabbing her little teacup of hard liquor before he could lift it for her and discover just how she had gotten through the afternoon. It was a big gulp, and her eyes watered slightly, but Daddy just assumed she was near tears about her dress.

It wasn’t entirely wrong.

“Of course, my flower. Although I am not held responsible if you come home un-ruffled.” He winked and tucked a handful of gold galleons into her little reticule.

She nodded daintily and rose to kiss his cheek. She had taken two steps toward the door when she tripped over her own feet. Maybe it was time to stop drinking.

“NARCISSA! Darling!” Druella’s voice was muffled by the door. “Look what we’ve just found! Your great-aunt Circe’s lacy masquerade mask!”

On second thought, where was Knobby? She needed a refill.

******

It took her almost half an hour to de-ruffle in the garden. Bella killed time by beheading roses and making out with Rodolphus on the concrete benches. Narcissa found both activities a bit messy, but Bella had always been more willing to get her hands dirty. The three of them apparated to the grounds of the old Goyle estate right on schedule, masks in place.

Not even Bella was willing to be late to the June 1974 Semi-Annual Death Eater Formal and Casino Night. This was likely because the one time she had been late, to the 1972 Skull Bowling Championship and Casino Night, the Dark Lord had refused to play exploding snap with her. She’d cried for a week.

When they arrived, Narcissa took her newly sleek self in search of her affianced. She might not like it when Bellatrix mocked him for general stupidity, but he did occasionally need… _guidance._ Since they were now engaged, she would rather her future husband not embarrass himself by vomiting in the potted gardenias tonight.

His white-blond head was not obvious in the crowd, so she turned for the drinks table. The Persimmon Punch glowed a rather distressing shade of orange, and she grimaced as the enchanted ladle filled her cup. At least she’d stashed something a bit harder in her reticule alongside her pocket change.

“Narcissa!” Alecto Carrow’s sharp voice cut through the din, her brassy red hair making Narcissa squint in the overly bright ballroom at the younger woman. She was in some unfortunate brown number with a yellow mask that made Narcissa think of mud and personal hygiene. “I thought these sorts of gatherings were beneath the princess of Slytherin. Come to join the fun?”

“Nonsense,” she sighed, lifting her spiked punch to her pursed lips. “I have come to waste a bit of money on a noble cause and support my sister and fiancé. And I do wish you would learn a better hair charm, dear, you’re positively Weasley tonight.”

“How dare you!” Alecto’s squashed face scrunched up farther in offended horror beneath her mask, and Narcissa realized that she had said that last bit out loud. Unfortunate, but not untrue. She glanced down at her glass and only just managed to avoid smacking her lips together.

“Just gentle advice,” she murmured, finally spotting Lucius holding court near the game of Muggle Wizard’s Chess. She did hope he hadn’t let any blood spatter onto those new blue robes. They were meant to match tonight. “Boys and their Imperius charms. Must be going.”

Lucius was in rare form, thankfully not from liquor. She discretely sniffed his breath when she leaned in for a quick kiss on the cheek. “Darling! Meet Avery, Nott, you know Goyle of course.”

The men were all in black robes, looking like a trio of hulking crows with their shiny Death Eater masks covering the top half of their faces. (The formal masks left the mouth and cheeks uncovered so that the Dark Lord’s trusted servants might thoroughly enjoy themselves. It also meant the wearers were much easier to identify.)

She nodded to all three. Lucius looked resplendent in blue. “Ah, I see you’ve sampled the Persimmon Punch. Quite a favorite, I assure you. It was Narcissa herself who suggested –” and he was off and running again. She hung on his arm for a few more minutes, but her punch-flavored firewhiskey lasted only through the first rant against the alarming rise of muggle-borns enrolling at Hogwarts and by the second time Nott was red in the face, searching for a word he did not really know (“Supercilious,” she murmured helpfully, if only to move the complaining along) Narcissa was ready for a change.

Her nails had just started to draw blood when Lucius paused and looked down at her. “More punch, my dear?”

“Oh, you’re a marvel,” she simpered. “However did you know? Yes, let’s. Gentlemen.”

Lucius looked a bit surprised to be dragged away, but the crowd yelled just then as the young woman “playing” the White Queen used her sword to take the arm off of the old man playing the Black Rook. Narcissa tugged harder on his arm.

“I don’t want blood on my robes,” she hissed. “Or yours. Honestly, you would think they might have warned us to use Impervius charms.”

She cooed appropriately at the way the chocolates formed a portrait of Lord Voldemort’s face, and agreed that the tea cakes looked much better with pomegranate seeds. Then she dumped the rest of her smuggled firewhiskey into the half-filled cup of punch he brought her when he turned to survey the room.

“Marvelous turnout, simply marvelous. If the betting holds steady we should raise 3,000 galleons tonight, dear. The Dark Lord will be so very pleased. He has insisted on new wands for all of his Death Eaters, of course, and even when you threaten wandmakers with certain death the materials must be procured from somewhere. Everything has its price, of course.”

“Mmm,” she murmured. So uncouth, Lucius could be, blathering about the cost of things. “Of course it’s not a truly high class fundraiser unless the invited may _forget_ that it is a fundraiser at all.”

She’d learned that very early, when her mother had roundly mocked the Weasleys for an awful attempt to raise money for the victims of a muggle school destroyed in a skirmish between Lord Voldemort’s oldest supporters and the aurors. It had made an awful mess, as she recalled, and no one had needed reminding of that.

Surely Lucius couldn’t be very hard to teach.

The music started up then, and he made an elaborate and courtly bow over her hand. “My lovely bride to be, do dance with me.”

“We’ve just poured punch, Lucius,” she sighed. It was to be one of those wretched square dances and he was horrifically inclined to step on her feet.

“Ah but we have a few moments before the next set forms.” He drained his own cup and then reached gallantly for hers.

“No!” Her voice was sharper than she meant it to be, but she was not prepared for either parting with her final dose of firewhiskey or giving Lucius any further reasons to look foolish in front of their peers.

“Well then drink up, darling, I’ll go and save us a spot.”

Narcissa pressed her lips together in an attempt to thin them, but they were numb enough that she worried they might simply appear pouty. Blacks did not pout.

She closed her eyes and downed her drink.

******

The rest of the night passed in a bit of a blur. Lucius most likely suspected something, as he danced her out into the gardens during a waltz and attempted to get handsy. Narcissa was surprisingly tempted to agree to it, until she saw her older sister’s dark head bouncing up and down on the other side of the hedge.

Still, she managed to smooth her hair and smile at all of the boring people with boring jobs and boring opinions on terribly  boring topics. She played exploding snap, and Romanian Roulette (the ‘dealer’ has cast five harmless spells and one jinx or unforgivable – each player must cast Prior Incantato until someone is ‘killed’), and was even persuaded into the line for the “Message to the Dark Lord” photography booth.

The line was unbearably long, due in part to Bellatrix going into the booth alone and spending almost 10 minutes on her ‘message.’ Her sister came out looking flushed and far too pleased with herself. Narcissa carefully avoided looking at her as she glided away, winding a long blonde strand around her finger and swaying only a bit as she glared across the room at that presumptuous Greengrass boy who’d tried to kiss her in her seventh year.  

“They’ll let anyone in this place now,” she sniffed irritably. The next few guests were much faster, clearly have much less to say to their all-powerful host and master. “I thought the Dark Lord approved the guest list?”

“He is intimately involved in every detail,” Lucius assured her. “But dearest he is recruiting. Allowances must be made.”

Her fiancé pulled back the curtain and ushered her inside. She sank down on the dingy seat with dismay and hissed, “Yes, certainly. We make allowances for that awful greasy hair and the excessively large nose His Dark Lordship continues to sport. Does he not understand that there are spells for that sort of thing?”

Lucius stared at her in horror, the flash went off, and the photo was displayed for a few seconds, her voice clearly saying “that awful greasy hair and the excessively large nose His Dark Lordship…” before Lucius dove to try and retrieve the offending image.

He was too late. It settled neatly into the carefully warded pile that would be given to the Dark Lord tomorrow with his tea.

Narcissa stomach rolled even as she had to bite back rather hysterical laughter. She wasn’t sure which reaction would be more inappropriate. She knew either would be horrifically beneath her.

They exited the booth silently. Goyle made a loud announcement that the dragon baiting was about to start.

“I think I may need a bit of fresh air,” she said primly. “You go ahead.”

Bella found her in the morning, curled behind a rosebush, having laughed herself to sleep. Narcissa was not invited to the 1974 Semi-Annual Death Eater Formal and Christmas Gala that year or for several years following. Lucius never mentioned it again, and she found other ways of surviving the irritations of her life that left her in a bit more control of her tongue.

Narcissa did not laugh often. In fact, she had only her second bout of hysterical laughter the night after the Dark Lord invaded their home and sat at their dinner table with a muggle studies professor suspended above them.

For he was bald, with no proper nose at all. It was the first time she had wanted a drink in decades.

 


End file.
